Deviation on a Theme
by seasonofthepumpkin
Summary: When your lungs are filling with blood and you have but moments left what is there to think about?


Deviation on a Theme  
  
* * *  
  
.so much blood. And for once it was all his.  
  
He'd been shot before. He'd gotten a bit cocky and not been as careful as he might have been. He'd been rewarded for his carelessness with two slugs to the shoulder.  
  
That had been two years ago, and he'd never forgotten. It had hurt like hell, but there hadn't been much blood. He'd been off his feet for a week or two, and then he was back to business as usual. Other than the initial pain, it had not much of a big deal. He was none the worse for wear after his experience.  
  
But this time was different, and he didn't like it.  
  
It didn't bode well to bleed this much; even the densest person knew that. He shuddered. Now he was starting to feel horridly cold and strangely weightless. His head felt so light he feared it would float away and pop like a child's balloon caught in the trees.  
  
Something warm and wet trickled from the corner of his mouth and on down his chin. His lung must have been punctured, he realized dimly. He pulled a rasping breath in, his lungs feeling like they were leaden. God, it was getting so hard to breathe.  
  
He looked down again in disbelief. His soggy once-white shirt wasn't absorbing anymore blood now. He could feel it seeping from his chest, quickly becoming sticky and cold once it hit the air. He brought a hand to his chest cautiously, as if touching it would prove it to be truth.  
  
It did.  
  
Slowly, painfully, he looked up at his attacker in disbelief. Just seeing that little nerd Hojo was even more mind numbing. True, the man had a temper, but Vincent had never regarded that scientist as a threat to him. To Lucrecia perhaps, but never himself.  
  
He just stood there. Vincent wondered why he wasn't saying anything. There were taunts, no threats, nothing. He wasn't even smirking. His face was oddly calm and detached, as if observing nothing more than another of his specimen.  
  
He wondered how much time he had left before he either asphyxiated or died of blood loss. His heart pounded feverishly, and he sucked another feeble breath in accompanied by a sick sucking sound.  
  
Tears formed in his eyes as he struggled for each breath like it would be his last. It hurt so very badly. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, and it hurt more than anything he'd ever felt in his life. Panic was beginning to take hold, and he knew the end was nearing. His adrenaline was surging madly, but even that couldn't help him now.  
  
God, he was so scared.  
  
Hojo knelt beside him now; his face still cold and blank. His eyes swept over the coagulating blood on the floor, and then settled on Vincent.  
  
"It won't be long. You will go into shock very soon and from there you'll die." He said simply, not expecting a reply. It was merely an observation, and both men knew that.  
  
Vincent knew he was right. He didn't have long, a few more minutes at the most. He was frightened at the prospect, but if possible something frightened him even more than this.  
  
Lucrecia. What would happen to her now that he was.gone? He couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to her. And now that he'd gone and gotten himself killed, who would be there to save her? He had promised to be there no matter what. He had sworn to always protect her.  
  
He had failed. Even now he could see that. All his promises and oaths had been for naught in the end. What good could he do her now, steadily bleeding to death in this damned library? A dead lover was worse than no lover at all.  
  
He was so scared right now. For both of them.  
  
He'd seen the toll all this madness had taken on her thus far. One would have to be blind not to notice the utterly drained look she had about her now. Darkness circled her eyes, and the tiny lines beginning to creep their way across her face had no place at all on such a young woman.  
  
This project was killing her, and yet she would do nothing. He'd begged and pleaded with her, promised and sworn and yet she would hear none of it. It had been that way for months and just when he'd begun to despair of ever reaching her she'd finally agreed to his plan.  
  
She would be waiting for him right about now. And he wouldn't be there.  
  
He had failed her. And that hurt even more than dying.  
  
The pain was slowly dying, now, leaving a bleak numbness instead. He supposed it was fitting, he knew that with his injuries he could not have hoped for more than five or ten minutes at the very most. He'd seen these types of things before, and he knew that a pierced lung definitely would kill a man if not treated immediately.  
  
It was the end of the line. No second chances, no hope for anything at all now. He could barely breathe at all now, and strangely it didn't matter. His body wasn't even fighting it anymore; it seemed to resign itself to its fate quietly now.  
  
The blackness swallowed him, and nothing mattered anymore.  
  
He'd failed.  
  
* * *  
  
Author Notes: I wrote this for darknightdestiny. We were talking about Vincent death scenes, and I said that the next one I wrote I would dedicate to her. Here it is, and I hope you like it. Also, I want to thank Sephiroth1Ripley8 for helping me out with gunshots to the lung information. I learned many things today, and I appreciate your help. 


End file.
